


In These Dark Times

by roboticdragons



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Amnesia, Body Horror, Cults, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 20:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15915990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticdragons/pseuds/roboticdragons
Summary: A new creature is born of the ink into a world he doesn't remember.The Creator is lost amongst lost ones.





	In These Dark Times

**Author's Note:**

> New fic? New fic. Feedback is greatly appreciated!

All he knew was the light. That light, ever-shining at the end of the tunnel. Nothing else, nothing more, nothing less. All he’d ever known was the light. At least, that’s all he could remember. Light shining and walls of ink surrounding him, suffocating him until the only chance at fresh air and freedom was the light. Go towards the light, the ink said as it smothered any hope of living, they’re all there beyond the light. Who were they? Who was he? He didn’t know. All he knew was the light.  

And so he went into the light.

Reality slammed into his body like a freight train made of familiar-unfamiliar sounds and smells and sights. A strangled gasp escaped him and he reached up with arms he hadn’t know he had and clawed at anything or everything. Forces were pressing down on his shoulders, restricting, smothering him like the ink he’d just escaped from. There were glowing lights around him and sepia tones clinging to everything and the _smell_ was overpowering. He had to leave, he had to get away-

“ **Creator?** ”

A voice. One that didn’t scream like the ink did…wait, what? He remembered now. The ink he’d been suffocated by, it had voices in it…why hadn’t he noticed it before? The point is there was a voice that wasn’t screaming, and sounded like it was sentient, almost. It spoke some more.

“ **Creator? You’re thinking? You’re awake?** ”

Creator opened his mouth and remembered to talk. “Yes?”

The figures standing in front of him, lanky and skeletal with soul lights in their eyes, seemed to sigh in relief. “ **Good. Afraid you were sleeping forever.** ” The few holding him down backed away, so he could see that the rest had formed a circle around him. Some were tall, some short, but all had featureless faces and blank eyes. All were staring at him. None were blinking.

“Where am I?” Creator didn’t recognise the place he was in. Then again, the only place he remembered ever being in was the dark tunnel, and the light. The room he was in now was half-lit with blurry, sepia-toned glows that seemed to sprout from the walls. Beyond the bars in the room were pits of darkness, with eye lights like stars dotted in the black.

“ **The haven.** ”

That didn’t explain much. Creator couldn’t tell exactly which one had spoken. They might have all spoken in unison, not one of them had clear mouths and the voice(s?) had a strange, echoing sound.

“ **Come. Pray with us.** ”

Again there was that eerie feeling, the impression that none yet all of them had spoken. “ **It will calm you.** ” In unison they all shuffled away from him and towards the opposite wall upon which, he was just noticing now, a mural was painted.

The ink was so smudged that at first he was unable to discern what it was of. It’d been crafted over what must have been decades. Handprint over handprint over handprint, layers and layers of ink. Each drop had its place and part. All came together to form two jagged horns, eyes almost completely obscured by the black flood. Most prominent of all was a wide, toothy grin.

Creator felt a shock of recognition and a name formed in his head: ‘ ** _Bendy…_** ’.

That voice in his head didn’t exactly sound like his own.

The name meant something. That was a given, the name held a special kind of weight that made it almost a physical entity, of course it meant something. Already a few definitions were slithering into his thoughts – it meant the sea of ink, it meant fear, it meant salvation, it meant everything. But at the same time a more rational voice was trying to speak out, it doesn’t mean much, just a story. The rational voice’s most prominent thought was, it’s not real. Bendy isn’t real.

But that made no sense! Creator found himself laughing out loud at the very thought, a small indication of the internal battle. Those surrounding him didn’t react. Of course Bendy was real. He had to be. Why else would the figures around him be on their knees, hands clasped and held out in front of them?

Why else would _he_ be kneeling with them in front of the mural? Though the memory of getting down on his knees was fuzzy, and the feeling in his arms and legs was fading quickly, something about what was going on was good. Natural, even.

He was kneeling amongst lost ones before an image he couldn’t understand. He was slowly becoming lost himself.

A door outside his now limited vision opened. Slow, steady, almost rhythmic footsteps echoed. Creator felt needles prick up his spine. The atmosphere in the room swept from quiet prayer to tense and respectful.

Something powerful had entered the room.


End file.
